Harry's Brilliant Idea
by Vanilla Jester
Summary: After spending most of the night worrying about how he's going to survive the Triwizard Tournament, Harry has a desperate idea; what if he makes some more polyjuice potion, and instead of using a sample from a human, he uses a feather from a phoenix? Warning, contains Ron bashing.
1. Chapter 1

Harry was pacing back and forth in the Gryffindor common room, thinking furiously. He hadn't really stopped since last night, and had barely slept. The reason for this, and the reason for his frantic brainstorming, was that his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire the previous evening.

He'd been hoping for a normal year, just once, but apparently that was too much to ask. Instead, he was forced to compete in a tournament designed and intended for students at least three years older than him.

So far, the only person who had believed him when he vehemently denied putting his name in to compete was Hermione Granger, his best female friend, and the smartest witch in their year. In fact, privately Harry thought she was the smartest witch in the school, but he knew saying so would probably only embarrass her.

It had been clear from the look on her face as he had come out of the antechamber the champions had gathered in after the Halloween feast that she didn't believe he'd been responsible for it, or wanted to compete. It hadn't been necessary, but when she said it aloud and gave his hand a supportive squeeze as they'd walked back to the common room, it had reassured him. At least one person believed him, and was on his side.

She was therefore the reason he was now pacing in the common room at half past six in the morning instead of his dorm; he figured it was late enough in the morning already and she was always early to rise. He was waiting for her to come down for breakfast so he could talk to her, and ask for her help. She'd know what to do. She always did.

He needed a way out of this competition or, failing that, a way to survive it. How could he be expected to compete with sixth and seventh years? Sure, he'd done some incredible things in the last three years, but mostly they were by accident, or by luck. The only thing he could point to as having been achieved through his own effort and talent was being the youngest seeker Hogwarts had seen in a century, and he really didn't think that would help him now.

 _The ruddy tournament_ , Harry thought dejectedly as he ran his hands through his hair for about the millionth time, was the whole reason he'd barely slept last night. He'd been caught between being worried almost sick about it and desperately trying to think of some way he could possibly live through it. Some idea that could save him.

But nothing came to him. No inspiration struck. Dumbledore had been next to useless last night and Harry, wallowing in the depths of paranoia in the early hours as sleep eluded him had suspected the headmaster of not helping him out of the tournament for the express purpose of smoking out whoever had put his name in the goblet in the first place.

Finally tiring of his frenetic pacing, Harry slumped into a chair with a view of the stairs down from the girls' dormitories. He ran his hands through his hair again, wondering rather detachedly just how much of a mess it must look now, and blew out a long breath.

He was dead tired. Not just from all the pacing he'd been doing since he got up, but also from the fact that he'd barely been able to sleep last night. In fact, he wasn't even sure he had. He'd just rolled around wretchedly, his mind moving a mile a minute in the darkness.

He must have fallen asleep in his chair because the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake by Hermione. She had found him there at half past seven, and had discreetly dispelled some of the spells other early risers had evidently left on her best friend before leaning down and taking his shoulder.

Harry snorked and jerked upright, a picture of elegance. Hermione stifled a smile at his appearance, minus the rather unflattering spellwork of her housemates of course, and sighed. He didn't look like he'd slept a wink last night, and had obviously fallen asleep waiting for her. She couldn't keep the smile contained, however, when she realised how obviously he had wanted to see her.

"Come on, sleepyhead. Let's get down to breakfast, and you can tell me why you wanted to see me," she said, taking his hand and pulling.

"How did you know I wanted to see you?" Harry asked stupidly, not really awake yet, and getting himself upright with Hermione's help.

"Well, you don't sit around in the common room watching the stairs very regularly, do you? And your name came out of the Goblet last night. So, I deduce that you want to speak to me," she gave him a cheeky grin. "Am I right?"

Harry sighed and smiled ruefully, running a hand over his head again. Now he was waking up it was fairly obvious.

"Yeah. Sorry, I didn't get much sleep last night. I wanted to ask if you'd help me find a way out of the tournament."

"Oh Harry, of course I'll help! And I'll let you off not sleeping properly," she said, giving him a playful nudge in the side as they began making their way down the many stairs towards the entrance hall. "You had a very stressful evening last night."

"Thanks, Hermione. I don't know what I'd do without you. Probably go mad if I hadn't died already."

Hermione just took his arm. Ordinarily she'd reprimand him for being so morose, but she decided to let him off until after breakfast.

"So… how does heading to the library after we've eaten to look up the tournament rules and magical contracts sound?" She prompted him.

"Uh… good. Yeah, let's do that. Thanks," he said, and gave her a weak little smile.

* * *

When they arrived in the library they immediately sought out Madam Pince to ask her where they could find any books on magical contracts.

Approaching the severe woman, Harry maneuvered himself so that Hermione was between him and the librarian. Hermione shot him a deprecating look, as if to say ' _what, scared of the big, bad librarian?'_ Harry had the good grace to look a little bashful.

"Madam Pince? We were wondering if the library has any books on magical contracts, and if so where we could find them."

Harry leant in to whisper something to her, but he murmured too low for her to make out what he was saying.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you, Harry. You need to speak up."

Now Harry was sure she was needling him. Huffing slightly and gathering his courage, he squared his shoulders and addressed the severe woman.

"Are also there any books on the history of the Triwizard Tournament? And do you happen to have any copies of the rules?" He asked, awkwardly.

Madam Pince gave them both a sharp look, as if they were taking up her very valuable time with frivolities, but lead them to two different sections and pointed out the books they were looking for.

At the first she pointed out a slim volume entitled 'Triwizard Tournaments Through the Years' which Harry picked up.

"Oh, I read that one at the beginning of the year, when the headmaster announced the tournament. It'll be really … important for you to read too, Harry."

Harry just nodded.

Pausing before leading them on, Madam Pince turned and spoke a little snappishly.

"We don't keep a copy of the rules any more, as the last tournament was held just over two hundred years ago. Since the headmaster also said during his announcement at the beginning of the year that some changes had been made to increase safety, I wouldn't imagine any copy we might have had would be up-to-date. You'll need to owl the Ministry if you want one."

She led them to the final section they had asked about and left them to it. Harry helped Hermione look through the meagre collection of books on magical contracts, barely a shelf-full, and most concerning magical law, not the kind of contract they were dealing with.

After checking them all, Hermione pressganged Harry into helping carry the larger share of the majority of the musty tomes she wanted to check over to the table she had long ago claimed as her own.

Depositing the books he was carrying, Harry slumped down and began to read the Triwizard book he had picked up.

As he read he became more and more horrified, and his worry about competing intensified. Apparently the tournament had suffered an almost thirty percent mortality rate before being cancelled in 1792 after all three competitors had died during the first task.

The tasks themselves always involved something incredibly dangerous, whether it be creatures, situations, or traps and enchantments set up by the organisers. He also noticed a pattern; the first task usually involved dangerous creatures. The second; a trial against great odds. The third and final task, unsurprisingly, was always the most difficult, always had the highest mortality rate, and usually featured the highest concentration of wizard-created obstacles.

Occasionally he would mutter _'bloody hell'_ , and Hermione would quietly reprimand him, but not too vehemently. Harry assumed it was because secretly she agreed with him.

He put the book aside, feeling a little queasy. He _really_ needed something to help him survive. He wouldn't even consider trying to win at this point, even if he would have previously.

He picked up the largest, mustiest tome on magical contracts they'd picked out and began to read it in the hopes that it would help to soothe his nerves.

After half an hour of trying to read the same paragraph and feeling his head droop to his chest before jerking it back upright, he turned to Hermione.

"Hermione," he hissed, mindful of the almost supernaturally sharp hearing of the strict librarian "could you check if this book is enchanted?"

Hermione looked up at him and frowned, wondering what he was getting at. But she shrugged and waved her wand over it, incanting a spell Harry didn't recognise. The book didn't react.

"There. It's not magical. Why were you asking?"

"I just figured there had to be an enchantment on it to put readers to sleep," he answered, giving her a silly grin.

She rolled her eyes at him. "No Harry, that's just a book on magical law for you."

"Oh well. Hey, what was that spell you used? I didn't recognise it, and it seems like if I have to compete I'd better get to learning as many new spells as I can."

"It was a very simple diagnostic charm, _revelio magicae_. There are loads of them, and that's more or less the simplest. All it does is show whether there's a permanent magical presence on an item."

"Thanks, I can see that'd already be useful. Do you think you could help me learn more? Not right now, just in general."

"Of course, Harry. We can figure out a time when neither of us are busy, and try and find somewhere where we won't be disturbed to practice," she said with a small smile.

"Great. I don't have my timetable with me, but we can compare ours later."

With that, they returned to their books. He slid the offending _somnulobiblios_ aside and chose another book that hopefully would be more interesting.

He tried to focus on the book, he really did, but he had ended up doodling on a spare scrap of parchment, idly wondering about his predicament.

As his mind wandered back over his experiences with the dangerous creatures he'd encountered while at school, he recalled the end of his second year. That basilisk had been the deadliest creature he had ever faced, more dangerous even than the Dementors he'd fought the previous year. At least they could be driven off with a Patronus. If he'd been without the help of Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, he'd have been well and truly stuffed.

He had to hope they wouldn't match the champions against one this year, if they could find one. An account in the Triwizard book described one tournament when the winner had been declared after only the first task because two of the competitors had been killed by Cockatrice that they'd had to face. That the winner had later died of the injuries they had sustained was not counted as a 100% mortality rate for that tournament, the book said, had more to do with a technicality claimed by the ministry of the host country – France - than anything else.

He couldn't count on the help of a phoenix this time, he knew. Fawkes coming to is aid in the nick of time, toting with him the instrument of his salvation, was too much to ask for a second time.

He idly reviewed the year. He remembered brewing the polyjuice potion in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, scant feet away from the hidden entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. He shook his head at how close they'd been for so long. He grinned. Hermione had looked so cute with whiskers, and cat ears and tail.

They had been warned that the potion was not for use outside of the human species, but it had clearly had some effect, as Hermione had been wont to track and jump on fast-moving objects, and had loved having her ears scratched.

Thinking about Hermione being transformed into a part-cat, the entrance to the Chamber so close, what had transpired there, and the help Fawkes had been, several completely disparate pieces fell together for Harry so suddenly he could have sworn the thought coalesced with a physical rush.

He could make more polyjuice potion, and transform himself into a part-phoenix! It was the first of November, the first task took place on the twenty-fourth. The lacewings took twenty-one days to stew. If everything went right, he'd have time! There was even a phoenix in the castle, one which had proven willing to help him in the past.

He turned to Hermione and grabbed her hand.

"Hermione!" He all but gasped out, forgetting in his excitement to keep his voice down "I know what I can do! But you have to help me!"

"Shh Harry," she hissed "or we'll be thrown out. Now, what is your idea? Have you found a way out of the contract?" She asked excitedly.

"What? Oh, no. Dumbledore said last night I had to compete, so checking was a long-shot anyway. No, I just had an idea. A way to survive the tasks. We brew some more polyjuice potion, and I ask Fawkes for a feather, and I become a part-phoenix. Madam Pomfrey will be able to reverse it afterwards, like she did when you – during second year."

Hermione looked at him doubtfully, but chewed her lip and duly considered it. It was hare-brained and brash, not to mention dangerous. But then, given the accounts in Triwizard Tournaments Through the Years, helping Harry survive might just take something drastic.

"I don't know, Harry… what if we can't get Fawkes to give you a feather? How will we get the ingredients? Will there be enough time? There isn't a Hogsmede Weekend for two weeks, and we'd need to start brewing _today_ just to have it done in time."

"Don't worry about that. I'll just sneak out of the castle with my cloak and go to the apothecary in Hogsmede. I'll tell them something like it's for an emergency. Dumbledore said we have today off normal lessons to 'celebrate the beginning of the tournament' or something, so we won't be missed. Worst comes to worst, we can just steal the ingredients from Snape again. And I'll go call for Fawkes now. I don't think having him flame into the library would be a good idea, after all."

"I don't know, Harry. Partial transformations into magical creatures with the potion have never been studied or documented. It's a very dangerous potion anyway. So many things could go wrong! Fawkes may not even let you have a feather. What if Madam Pomfrey can't turn you back?"

Harry just waived his hand impatiently.

"I'm sure it'll be fine. What's the worst that could happen? I'll be stuck as a part-phoenix forever? That doesn't sound so bad. Maybe I'll get fire powers, or the ability to fly. And if Fawkes doesn't let me have a feather I could maybe try and get a bit out of the one in my wand. And if that doesn't work… I promise, I'll give up."

With that, Harry got up and almost rocketed out of the library in his nervous enthusiasm, in the process forgetting the books he'd taken from the shelves, his bag, and Hermione.

She huffed and began collecting their things together.

Harry had been gone for a couple of minutes when he returned, looking rather sheepish.

"Sorry," he whispered, "I got a bit carried away."

Hermione just poked him in the side, eliciting a small yelp from him.

"Since you ran off on me, here. You can put these contract and law books back."

Harry just sighed in defeat and nodded. It was fair.

* * *

As they walked in search of an empty, unused classroom, Harry had a thought.

"Hermione, what's the policy on lending library books to other students?"

"As long as the book is returned and in good condition, Madam Pince only frowns on it. It's not against the rules. Why, Harry?"

"Oh, I just figured it'd be a good idea to show Cedric Diggory, and maybe the other champions. I wonder, if they'd read it before, whether they'd still have put their names into the Goblet."

"That would be a very noble thing to do, Harry, and I think you can definitely trust Cedric to bring the book back in good order. Perhaps just show it to the other champions, and tell them where to find it?"

"Hmm, yeah. I think I'll do that. Oh, here's an empty one. Come on."

Harry tried the door of what turned out to be an unlocked, dusty classroom. It didn't appear to have been used in years, judging by the amount of dust on the floor and furniture.

They each gave the room a cursory clean over with their wands before Harry stood in the centre of the room, raised one arm as if ready for Fawkes to perch on it, and lifted his voice.

"Fawkes, I need your help."

Harry stood there for a moment, very quickly starting to feel foolish. Then, just as he was about to lower his arm and admit defeat, a ball of flame burst into being just above his head.

Fawkes, trilling a beautiful song that uplifted both Harry and Hermione, swooped around the room and alighted on his outstretched arm. For such a big bird – for Fawkes was the size of a large swan – he was deceptively light.

Harry glanced at Hermione, and would have smiled at the astonished look on her face if not for the fact that she looked exactly how he felt.

Returning his attention to the beautiful phoenix, Harry wondered what to say. He hadn't really expected this to work.

"Hi Fawkes," he began rather awkwardly. "I need a favour. Would you be willing to let me have a feather? It doesn't have to be big, like a tail feather. It could just be a little one from your chest or something."

Fawkes tilted his head to one side and gave him an astonishingly calculating look for a bird. He stayed like that, motionless, for several seconds before Harry had the feeling he should try to explain.

"I want to add it to some polyjuice potion. To help with the tournament. It's going to be really dangerous, and I don't know if I'd be able to survive without your help. You saved me from that basilisk, but I know you can't be around to help me all the time. The tournament has had a thirty percent mortality rate in the past."

Fawkes tilted his head to the other side, and then looked over at Hermione.

Hermione looked a little startled, but nodded. "Please," she murmured.

Fawkes turned back to Harry and gazed at him for a little while longer, as if evaluating him. Finally, he gave a little trill, then reached down to the plumage on his chest and gave a deft little flick. His beak came up with a small feather in it, which he held out for Harry to take.

Quivering slightly, Harry reached out with his other hand. The instant he touched the feather, he felt a warmth wash over him.

"Thank you, Fawkes. Thank you so much." Harry gave the bird a warm smile.

Fawkes just bobbed his head as though bowing, took off, and disappeared in a scintillating ball of fire.

Harry looked at Hermione for a few moments, feeling a strange mixture of emotions. Surprise, gratification, hope, and more than a little dizzy. Hermione looked as if she were experiencing exactly the same thing.

"Well… stage one complete," he said.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry reverently placed the feather from Fawkes in a little package he'd folded out of some parchment, then slipped it into his trunk and removed his invisibility cloak.

It was lunchtime. If he was going to slip out to Hogsmeade at any time, now would be best. Fewer people would miss him. He descended the stairs to find Hermione waiting for him in a virtually deserted common room. Obviously, most of the Gryffindors were in the Great Hall for the afternoon meal.

"I'm coming with you, Harry," she said, drawing him close and speaking low.

"What? Why? You could get caught."

"So could you. I'm coming because your idea would work better if it were the two of us. Listen; if you go into the apothecary and ask for all the ingredients we need for the potion, what's the shop keeper going to think?"

That brought him up short. Now she said it, it was obvious. Any half-decent apothecary would almost immediately work out what he was going to brew, and polyjuice potion was a controlled substance.

"I hadn't thought of that."

Hermione just nodded.

"So, you ask for the bicorn horn, and I'll ask for the Boomslang skin. We can also use the opportunity to replenish out potions kits, so it will be even less suspicious. Additionally, if one of us goes in first while the other waits outside under the cloak, then we switch, it'll be even more difficult for anyone to piece it together."

Harry smiled and nodded, then headed for the portrait hole.

"Thanks Hermione. You're the best."

"Of course I am," she said primly, but there was the hint of a smile playing about her lips to show she was only joking with him. "You'll really owe me for this, Mister Potter. This'll be twice I've brewed a borderline illegal potion for you."

"You most certainly are, Miss Granger," Harry returned playfully, "but I'll help more this time. I'm sure I've gotten better at potions."

She just poked her tongue out at him and led him down the stairs.

* * *

Harry was fairly glad that so far they seemed to have managed to avoid the majority of the student body, he reflected, as he stood outside the apothecary 'Garin's Premier Potion Supplies' waiting for Hermione. The few other students that they had encountered on their walk out of the castle had shot him truly filthy looks.

Every time this had happened his mood had soured further, but once outside and walking across the grounds Hermione had given his hand a squeeze and that had reminded him he wasn't alone in this. At least one person believed him, and was on his side.

He wondered, not for the first time, what he had done to deserve such unwavering support. Saving her from a troll in their first year hardly seemed to warrant it.

His mood darkened again as he considered his other friend, Ron. He had not been so supportive. He hadn't believed Harry when he said he hadn't entered his name, and had turned belligerent while Harry maintained his innocence. They had not fallen asleep on good terms, and Harry hadn't seen him since, having gotten up extremely early.

Knowing the famous Weasley temper that Ron always talked about, it could be days before he came around. It had taken Hagrid shouting at them both last year to get him and his redheaded friend talking to Hermione again after the whole Firebolt fiasco – something that still shamed Harry now. Hermione had gone behind his back talking to McGonagall like that, but his response was totally disproportionate and unfair.

That hadn't been the only time last year that Ron had gotten into a truly epic sulk. There was the discovery of Scabbers being missing, with blood-stained sheets and ginger hairs from Crookshanks, happening just hours after they had all reconciled. It had taken discovering that Scabbers was not only alive, but really a rat animagus called Peter Pettigrew and his parent's real betrayer for Ron to apologise to Hermione after that episode.

Perhaps hoping his mood would blow over after a few days was a little optimistic. Knowing Ron, it'd probably take something drastic and probably dangerous to jolt the young Weasley out of his animosity.

Just then the apothecary door opened and Hermione exited. She looked both ways along the uninhabited street then came over to alleyway they had agreed he'd hide in, despite the cloak. He lifted the cloak and she stepped in close, drawing herself to him so that he could drape it over the both of them – no easy task now that they were no longer ikkle firsties.

"I think we should leave it for a while before you go in. I used your idea of saying it was an emergency, but I don't think two 'emergency' cases, one right after the other, is too subtle, do you?"

"Hm, you're right. Hah, you're always right," Harry said, poking her side good-naturedly.

"Eep! That's right, Harry, and I wish you'd remember it more often," Hermione returned, poking his side in retaliation.

"Ok," he said, squirming slightly under the confines of the cloak to try and escape her, "where do you want to go?"

"Hmm… well, we can't exactly shop anywhere. It's risky enough just going to Garin's. Maybe we could just go for a walk?"

She searched Harry's face a little nervously. Most of their previous walks had been around the Hogwarts grounds, and on all of them they'd been accompanied by Ron. Running around with the Time Turner at the end of last year didn't count.

Harry thought about it for a moment, then nodded.

"There's a little river on the other side of Hogsmeade. It should be quite nice to walk down there for a little bit. Maybe we could find somewhere to sit? Actually, I still need to write a letter to Sirius. I could do that, then we could come back to Garin's and then get back to the castle. Oh, and I need to write a letter to Barty Crouch or Ludo Bagman; they're the ones from the Ministry who're in charge of the Tournament from their end."

Hermione gave him a little smile and nodded.

They found the river easily enough, and it turned out to be a merrily babbling little thing, only slightly larger than a brook. They settled in on a little stretch of the bank that had obviously been kept cleared for public use, and sat together on a wide, flat rock that seemed to have been placed here for that exact purpose.

They daren't risk warming charms to keep the November afternoon's chill at bay as it was not a Hogsmeade weekend, and they needed to stay under the cloak besides, so they cuddled up - closer than they normally would – and Harry got his writing supplies out of his bag. Hermione retrieved a book from hers, and they spent a very pleasant and companionable half hour accompanied only by the relaxing sound of the nearby river.

When he was done they walked back, and Harry acquired his potions ingredients and they returned to the castle without a hitch.

* * *

After dinner that evening, and after Harry had sent off his letters – he had chosen to owl Bagman, as he had seemed the less imposing and severe of the two Ministry employees he'd encountered so far - they had spent half an hour searching for a room they could use, not just for Harry to practice spells in, but also one in which they could brew the potion, when Hermione had a brainwave.

Turning to Harry and catching his hand to prevent him continuing to walk, she said "Harry, why don't we ask Professor McGonagall if she can set aside a room for you? Just saying it's for you to train in should be enough, and would easily explain why we spend so much time in it without seeming suspicious."

Harry smiled and gave her hand a squeeze.

"That's great, Hermione. Let's go find her."

Professor McGonagall was in her office, exactly where they expected her to be. Harry knocked and waited for her to call them in, and when he heard her voice he could have sworn he heard a hint of relief or gratitude in her tone. She appeared to be grading essays, and first year essays to boot. That would explain the relief Harry had thought he'd heard.

"Good evening Mister Potter, Miss Granger. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this evening?"

"Good evening Professor. We - that is, Hermione and I, since she's agreed to help me - were wondering if you might be able to set aside an unused classroom for me to practice in. For the Tournament. I'm at least three years behind the other champions, and I have a lot of ground to try and make up if I'm not to completely embarrass myself, Gryffindor, and the school."

Harry didn't especially care about embarrassing any of the bodies he'd mentioned, least of all himself; he was far more interested in surviving, and if a little embarrassment was what it took he'd willingly accept it. But he threw the mention in because he figured it would help his Head of House to be more disposed to help him.

The professors lips thinned for a moment as she considered, then she nodded to herself.

"I'm sure that would be possible, Mister Potter. I have a few ideas for places you could practice just offhand, but I'd like the chance to confer with several other members of staff before confirming anywhere. Once I have done so, I shall speak with you directly."

Harry wanted very badly to ask if a room could be found as soon as possible, but after Hermione's very reasonable caution earlier in the day he didn't want to risk saying anything for fear of raising the very sharp teacher's suspicion. They'd just have to start stewing the lacewings in Myrtle's bathroom, or even in the Chamber of Secrets, if it came down to it.

"Thank you professor, I really appreciate it. Good evening."

Once they were back outside in the corridor Harry let out a long breath. He'd really been hoping they'd have a room by the end of today.

Hermione took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, then started leading him away towards the common room.

"I half expected you to near demand a room this evening. I'm glad you were careful in there, Harry."

"I almost did, but I remembered what you were saying earlier about being cautious so as not to raise suspicion. It seems you're rubbing off on me," he said, with a lopsided grin.

Hermione just gave him a pleased little grin, then took his hand and lead him back to the common room to begin planning their schedule.

* * *

There was an unhappy Ron pacing back and forth, clearly waiting for them when they got there, however.

"Oh there you are, Potter," the redhead bit out, his face and tone twisting into a remarkable likeness of the junior Malfoy's. "Not seen you around today, been busy, have you? Spending time with your adoring fans and the press, I bet. How many autographs have you signed already?"

"I… what? Autographs?" asked Harry, completely blindsided by his friend's reaction. True, they hadn't ended the day yesterday on the best of terms, but this was completely beyond the pale.

"I… no, no; I've just been sorting some things out. I asked Hermione to help me prepare. I – "

"Oh yeah!? Hermione, huh?" Ron was almost shouting, his face flushing furiously and his fists clenching as he shot her a venomous look. "You been using her for practice for when the hotter witches start asking you for dates, huh? You didn't waste any time getting her to bend over for you."

"WHAT!?" Both Hermione and Harry shouted in chorus. They had shot from confused to offended and furious in an instant with Ron's wild accusation.

Hermione was about to follow up, but Harry jumped in first.

"How dare you! How could you even… I would _never_ **use** Hermione like that, you great prat! She was helping me make sure I don't _die_ in this stupid tournament, you bloody git! Did you know that nearly a third of all previous Champions have died? Or that it was cancelled last time because first task killed all the last ones?"

This didn't seem to register with Ron, however. He appeared too angry. What _did_ register, however, was the fact that Harry was still holding Hermione's hand from when they had been walking to the common room. It had just been companionable before they had crossed the threshold, but now Harry was using the contact to prevent Hermione from slapping Ron, or running off. Or possibly both.

"Yeah," Ron sneered, "I'm so sure. Is that what he told you, Hermione? To get you to feel sorry for him? 'Oh, this could be my last chance, the first task might kill me, come into this broom closet.'?"

Hermione looked caught between shouting something and bursting into tears. Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment and shame. How could he say that to her? About her? How could he _think_ that? Only Harry's hand in hers was keeping her from bolting up the stairs to her dormitory.

Hermione tugged slightly on his hand, clearly caught between running off and letting loose on their friend, caused Harry to glance at her. One look at her face had his blood boiling. How dare Ron make Hermione so upset? She was clearly almost crying, her emotions written all over her face. It wasn't just that he'd think all these things, but that he'd shout them in the common room for the entire House to hear. It also wasn't that he'd shouted at Harry; he could handle that.

But he was upsetting Hermione, and Harry thought that this could be worse than any of the previous times. All the other arguments had been about homework, or revising, or Crookshanks, or her reminding them slightly too often of things they needed to get done. But this… it was a direct slight to her dignity and her honour. If she ran now it would just lend credence to his accusations. If she ran, he' be right. If Harry wasn't sure his hand in hers was preventing that, he'd have hauled off and hit the idiot redhead already.

All of this flashed through Harry's mind in an instant, and a cold, terrible fury washed over him. His heart raced, his head throbbed, his vision whitened, and he felt a cool sweat sweep his body.

"Ron… " he began, his voice low and icy and dangerous, "don't you _dare_ talk to Hermione like that again. If you do… nothing will help you. Is that clear? Now… " Harry leant in close, and his voice dropped even further, " _F_ _uck. Off._ "

Ron seemed to sense that something was wrong as soon as he began talking, and he had stilled. Harry wasn't sure if it was his tone or what he'd said that had gotten through, but he didn't care. All he felt when his now almost assuredly ex-friend turned and stalked off was relief that he was gone.

Hermione's voice broke the moment.

"Harry," she whispered, "please let go. You're hurting me."

He looked around in shock, his eyes shooting from the pained look on face to their joined hands. He let her go immediately, almost as quickly as if her touch burned. She still looked like she might leave, though, so he placed his hands on her upper arms. Very carefully, this time.

"Oh Hermione, I'm so sorry! I didn't realise! I just didn't want you running off. If you had, everyone would have thought he was right. I didn't mean to hurt you. He just made me so angry. How could he talk about you like that?"

"I don't know. I don't care about that, Harry. I wouldn't have minded. I don't care what anyone but you think of me."

"Maybe… but _I_ care. No one gets to talk to you or about you like that. _No one_."

Harry was amazed at how fragile she looked in that moment. She looked like she was about to break, like a breeze could have blown her over. He couldn't think of anything he could do. Her jerked slightly, about to pull away, but the movement almost made her burst into tears. That wouldn't do.

Thinking frantically for a moment, he decided to try something he never would usually. Pulling her in close slowly, Harry put his arms around her gently, for the first time ever initiating a hug between them. She sagged against him and latched her arms around him as if she'd never let go, and after a few moments he felt his shoulder and neck begin to get wet. She was crying into him, silently.

Harry looked around at his Housemates, still watching like this was some kind of performance or entertainment, wondering how to remind them all to mind their own business. An idea struck; since he had their attention anyway, he may as well try and do a bit more for Hermione's reputation.

"Everything I said is true," he began, "Hermione was helping me - by researching magical contracts, nothing else - to see if there's a way I can get out of the tournament. We couldn't find one. What I said about the previous events and the champions is also true. You can read more in 'Triwizard Tournaments Through the Years', there's a copy in the history section of the library. I'm going to be spending all my time between now and the first task figuring out how to survive. Not win, just survive."

Once people began shifting awkwardly and returning to their previous tasks or conversations, he led her over to a small window seat set into an alcove. Hermione didn't seem like she was going to let go any time soon, and Harry couldn't think of anything to say, so he just sat and held her, occasionally rubbing her shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. He thought he caught Lavender and Parvati, and Katie, Angelica and Alicia casting them approving glances occasionally, but he wasn't sure.

Eventually, and after a few snuffles, Hermione stopped crying. She didn't let go of him though, and in fact cuddled against him more closely.

"Thank you, Harry. Sometimes… sometimes I forget that other people care about what's said about me. Nobody did, for so long, and it's so hard to remember in the moment."

That sounded suspiciously like something Harry had an intimate understanding of.

"Hh… Hermione? How bad was it? Before you came here? Before we were friends?"

She snuffled again, and shook her head.

"I don't want to talk about it."

That sounded a lot like what Harry would say whenever he was asked about living with the Dursleys. He filed the information away for later.

"Ok. We won't. I… I guess… uh, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I'll do my best to make sure you don't forget again. I promise."

"Thank you."

It had been said so quietly he almost wasn't sure she'd said anything at all, but then she gave him a little squeeze and leant up to kiss his cheek.

Harry just nodded, and reached up to gently brush the damp from her cheek with his thumb.

"Ok. Come on. We still need to sort out our training schedule. I'll go and get my timetable and I'll see you back here in a minute. Ok?"

She gave him a watery smile and nodded.

* * *

Harry entered his dorm room to a scene of chaos. It looked like a whirlwind had hit it; books and parchment and clothes were strewn everywhere, and Ron appeared to be gesticulating wildly out of one of the windows, which was thrown wide open.

"What happened in here… " he trailed off as Ron swung around, staring at him in a mixture of guilt and defiance.

Looking again, Harry saw that most of the items appeared to be strewn in a path leading towards that window. And the path started at his trunk. The only trunk that was open.

It had been a whirlwind; a whirlwind named Ron Weasley.

Harry saw red.

He stormed over to Ron and grabbed the front of his robes in one hand, his other balling into a fist. His head was swirling again, almost painfully. His things. His belongings. Ron was messing with his things. Trying to take them away, or throw them away. Only the Dursleys had ever done that to him before.

He raised his fist, his whole body quivering with rage. Ron looked terrified. He wrestled with himself back and forth for a very long few moments, but no, he couldn't do it.

"I'm not Vernon," he whispered to himself. He dropped his arm and let go of Ron whose panic was morphing into confusion.

He turned around and was wondering what to do when his eye fell on the trunk at the foot of the bed next to his. Ron's trunk. It was closed, but there was the corner of a bright, silvery piece of fabric poking out between from under the lid. He knew that fabric. It was an invisibility cloak. _His_ invisibility cloak.

Harry almost saw red again, but controlled himself. He stormed over to the trunk and wrenched it open. There was a strangled "Hey" from behind him, but he ignored it. He hauled his cloak out and, shooting a truly filthy, venomous look at the Weasley by the window, he stormed out.

* * *

Hermione had gotten back to the common room before Harry, so had sat back in their little window alcove to wait for him. She hadn't waited long before he shot off the stairs to the boy's dorms, but instead of heading for her he was moving towards the portrait hole at an incredible rate, a look of thunder on his face. He wasn't running, but he was moving very quickly. His invisibility cloak was clenched in his hand.

Something was very wrong.

Hermione leapt up and followed him, having to run to catch up.

"Harry, what's wrong? What happened? Where are you going? Why do you have your cloak?"

"That… that… I can't. I can't, I just can't. I cannot believe he'd… "

Something had happened with Ron, but she had no clue what and Harry didn't seem capable of telling her at the moment. He appeared to be heading for the office of their Head of House, so she supposed she'd just have to wait and see.

When he got there, Harry didn't even stop to knock, he just threw open the door and crossed the room to the desk of the sputtering professor McGonagall, Hermione trailing behind him.

Harry paused for a moment to collect himself, trying desperately to calm down enough not to shout at his Head of House.

"Mister Potter, what is the meaning of this? Bursting in here, after curfew, I might add." The highland witch was clearly upset, so much so that her Scottish brogue was clearly audible in her cold, clipped tone.

Her mood did not improve one iota as Harry related his story.

He explained what had happened from when he and Hermione had gotten back to the common room, relating what Ron had said, and what he had said back. He was about to continue, but the professor raised a hand and looked to Hermione.

"Is this true, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, professor. Ron said all that in front of the whole common room. You could ask anyone who was in there."

"Very well, Mister Potter, Miss Granger, thank you for bringing this to my attention."

She was about to rise when Harry continued.

"There's more, professor. When I got to my dorm room I found Ron throwing my belongings out of a window. Well, almost all. I found this in his trunk." He gestured with the cloak in his hand. "Professor, either he goes, or I do. I can't sleep in the same room as him."

McGonagall now had a look of thunder on her face that matched his. Hermione's face bore a mixture of shock and fury.

"I see." Was all she said.

She got up and led them out of her office.

This part was new to Hermione, but oddly Ron's behaviour didn't surprise her. He had always been juvenile, and this petulant behaviour seemed like the next progressing. Actually, she was almost surprised that he hadn't done anything like it before, but then nothing had stirred him up like this. Nothing that Harry had done, anyway. She began to wonder whether Ron would have tried to dump her belongings from the tower if he'd been able to get into her dorm room. The answer of 'probably' disappointed her.


	3. Chapter 3

McGonagall virtually stormed her way back to Gryffindor tower, Hermione and Harry trailing along in her wake, and a look of thunder on her face. Approaching the portrait of the Fat Lady she simply made a swiping motion with her hand, clearly too angry for trivial things like passwords and waiting.

The portrait opened on a scene of farcical pantomime; Ron was facing away from the entrance and clearly attempting to hold court to convince anyone that would listen how Harry had wronged him. The three newcomers caught the tail-end of what was obviously his main thrust as they entered.

"- obviously cheated his way into the tournament, and then he hit me when I called him on it! And stormed out! Yeah! Out of control, that one…"

"Mister Weasley! That will be quite enough!" Professor McGonagall said in a voice that could spell the end of empires. "Harry has told me what you said, and what you have done. He also explained that while he very much wanted to hit you for what you've done – and I would have to admit that I would find it very difficult to fault him if he had – he has told me that he finally decided not to. A more noble choice I could not have hoped for from anyone, least of all someone who has had to put up with so much over so little time as him." She looked around the common room with grim purpose in her eyes. "Has Mister Weasley told you all that in between Harry sending him packing for his quite frankly disgusting tirade against Miss Granger – and rest assured Mister Weasley an accounting for the despicable things you said and accused your two friends of at that time will be only the first thing exacted from you – and Harry leaving this tower to come and get me he –" she pointed at the now furiously red Weasley "was _throwing_ Mister Potter's belongings from the castle windows? Those that he wasn't stealing, anyway."

The indicated Weasley opened his mouth, though in the moment even he could not have said to what end, but was immediately cut off by the Professor.

"I don't want to hear it, Mister Weasley. You will close your mouth this instant, lest you increase your coming punishment. You will take yourself off to my office and you will wait there until I come back to deal with you, is that clear?"

Ron closed his mouth and nodded, then rotated towards the door and left, a stormy look on his brow.

"Come, Mister Potter, and let's see how much of your belongings may be salvaged," McGonagall said, and with that she led the way up the stairs to the boys' dorms.  
Harry's room-mates and finally, after a moment of deliberation, Hermione followed them.

Inside the room they found that Ron appeared to have attempted a half-hearted and entirely unsuccessful clean-up to cover his wrongdoing. Most of his things that Harry had seen strewn on the floor and furniture had been haphazardly dumped back into his trunk, and the window was closed. However, there were still some items here and there, and Harry and his room-mates, and even Hermione, knew that he never left his things in such disarray. It was a holdover habit from his time living the Dursleys all year, and not one he actually minded all that much.

"Professor," Harry began, "I assure you, I don't leave my things looking this messy. And –" Harry lifted the lid of his trunk "- most of my things are missing. Books, homework, quills and ink. I don't know where my Firebolt is, but I assume Ron didn't throw it out. Maybe it's under his bed or something."

"It's true," Neville said, immediately jumping to Harry's defence "Harry's the tidiest of all of us. His stuff's always put away neatly, and his area is always clean." The rest of the boys spoke up in agreement.

Professor McGonagall still looked thunderous, but it was clear she was attempting to calm down, and she deliberately gave the boys a slightly gratified look.

"Thank you, all of you. One point to Gryffindor for each of you, for supporting a housemate in a time of need. Now, since Mister Weasley has shown no compunction in stealing from one of you, perhaps we should check his trunk and area for any belongings not just of Mister Potter's, but any which might belong to one of you. First, however," she said, and then looked over at an open space of floor, "Mipsy."

A small House Elf in a Hogwarts teatowel toga popped into the room and stood virtually vibrating to attention.

"Mister Potter has had a number of his belongings thrown from the tower, out of-" Here she paused, and looked askance at Harry.

"That window, Professor," Harry said, indicating one on the other side of the room from his bed. There was a straight, unimpeded path from his trunk to it.  
"- thrown out of that window by a housemate. Please take several of the other elves and return as much of it here as you can. Don't worry if something is broken, damaged, or otherwise no longer usable, bring it here as well but leave it separate. We need to know what the other student will need to replace of Mister Potter's."

The House Elf looked horrified at what Professor McGonagall was describing, then saluted and said "At once, your Professor Catship!" in a piping voice, and popped away.

With that done, the Professor supervised the search of Ron's trunk and space for items that weren't supposed to be there. Sure enough, they found Harry's Firebolt under Ron's bed, along with a … certain magazine, the sight of which made Hermione blush furiously and McGonagall's lips press together so hard they completely disappeared. She simply flicked her wand and vanished it.

* * *

As they went, and each room-mate found small items they had thought lost, including a hip-flask of something in Ron's sock drawer that Seamus quietly admitted was his, and which McGonagall insisted he pour away in the bathroom before he could have it back – and even Neville's Remembrall which he exclaimed he thought he'd lost in first year - Harry became more and more distressed. One thing he'd forgotten about until he was back in the room, and which was very much more precious to him than almost everything else he owned, was not there. His father's map. He tried to keep his mounting alarm from showing, and tried to work out what he'd do if it didn't turn up. He gave Hermione a significant jerk of his head towards the window with an alcove seat and moved over to it.

"I can't find the map. It's not with my things, and besides the twins you, Ron and I are the only ones who know about it. I haven't found it yet. What should we do if we don't find it?"

"I don't know, Harry. I haven't seen it either, and I didn't see Neville, Dean or Seamus pick it up, either. I really don't think the elves will find it outside, either. I can't believe Ron would throw it away. Even with the way he was earlier, I don't think he'd destroy it." She broke off, biting her lip.

Harry thought hard. What he was considering went against every instinct he had, but… he honestly didn't think he had any other choice.

"Which means…" he let out a dejected sigh, "he probably has it on him. Hermione, I can't let him take it. It was my dad's. If I… If I ask McGonagall to search him for it, will you back me up? Try and, I don't know, make it sound less like it's the _Marauder's Map_?"

"I don't know if I can do that, Harry. No, not that I don't think you should get it back," she quickly assured him, realising how it might have sounded "I know how much it means to you, and how useful it's been. I just don't know if I can quick-talk around it being _the map_ , you know?" She finished, and went back to biting her lip.

Harry felt slightly ashamed that he'd even thought that Hermione might mean anything else, and tentatively put a hand on her arm to try and show it. He caught her eye and gave her a small smile.

"Have you forgotten you're the same girl who assured three teachers, one of whom was Professor McGonagall herself, that you had gone looking for the troll to try and stop Ron and I getting in trouble?" he said, giving her a small grin.

Hermione looked down at her hand, and then looked back up with a small smile of her own. "Ok Harry, I'll give it a shot. We'll wait until she's on her way back and catch her outside the tower so that no-one else hears."

While they had been talking, things of Harry's had started appearing on his bed in neat piles, and also on the floor next to his bedside table in a pile – these were the things that were broken. Currently it consisted mostly of several broken and empty ink-bottles, but there was also Harry's Sneak-o-Scope, which hadn't worked since he'd gotten it and was now broken beyond repair. Harry went over and gave these things a once-over, but as he'd expected, the map wasn't there. He applied a couple of repair charms to several of his books, and went back to checking the draws of Ron's chest of drawers.

Finally, once everyone had assured the Professor that they had all their belongings, McGonagall turned to leave.

Discreetly, Harry and Hermione followed her. Once she was out the portrait hole they called to her.

"Professor." Harry began "Sorry to keep you, but there are just two things before you go… One; it might be a good idea to ask Ron's parents to search his room at home to see if there are any other things there that don't belong to him," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"That is an excellent suggestion, Mister Potter. I shall bring it up when I have words with his parents which, rest assured, will be happening _tonight_ ," Professor McGonagall said, and nodded curtly.

"Um," Harry continued "And the other thing… there was one other item that I couldn't find. It's… well, it's quite a personal item… " he trailed off, awkwardly shifting his hands in and out of his pockets.

"Mister Potter," the Professor began, both her eyes and lips narrowing dangerously, "this had better not be about another … _publication,_ such as the one we found with your Firebolt."

"No! No Professor, absolutely not. The first one wasn't even – ah, um. No, it's not about one of those." Harry was blushing really hard.

"Professor, what Harry's asking about is a… it's an enchanted piece of parchment that belonged to… one of his parents. It looks blank at first glance, but it… well, it's enchanted… it's helpful to students - outside of their classes – if the right password is given. We believe Ron may have stolen it, because it isn't with Harry's things and we didn't find it while we were searching, so we think he may have it on him."

Harry was nodding as Hermione spoke, willing the deception to succeed.

McGonagall narrowed her eyes again, but the look she bore had a very different cast than before, and if Harry and Hermione didn't know better they could have sworn they saw a glint of _mischief_ in her eyes. But they did know better. Didn't they?

"Would this enchanted parchment's password happen to begin… 'I solemnly swear…' by any chance?"

Harry and Hermione stared at their Head of House, stunned. Perhaps they didn't know better after all. And if, as it turned out, they _didn't_ know their Head of House better, they could now almost convince themselves that their Professor was suppressing a small smile.

"I shall check Mister Weasley for this… parchment, the one that belonged to _one of_ your parents, and if I find that he has it I shall pass it along back to you. Good evening."

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving her two fourth years standing stunned in her wake. Eventually, after moments that felt like minutes, they turned to one another. Who could have seen that coming? Who could believe it? Nobody. Nobody would. McGonagall probably told them knowing that.

"Do you think she …" Harry began.

"… only told us because she knew nobody would believe her? Yeah, I do," finished Hermione.

They couldn't help but smile at one another.

* * *

For maybe half an hour afterwards Harry and Hermione sat sharing a small couch while Neville, Dean and Seamus sat near them. They were murmuring to one another in their disbelief at what their room-mate and friend of more than three years had been doing, evidently since even their first year, and how awfully and revoltingly he'd spoken to them in his flare-up. They all agreed that no matter what, he was in fact their ex-friend, and the boy's ex-room-mate. Harry had told them he had insisted to McGonagall that he couldn't share a room with the redhead any longer, and the boys all agreed.

Neville assured them that his Grandmother would be having words with the Weasleys, and none of them envied the parents of their erstwhile acquaintance. It was when Seamus said he was going to go to bed that Harry remembered what had caused him to catch Ron in the act in the first place – going to get his timetable.

"Hermione," Harry whispered to her, "I completely forgot. I was going to get my timetable so we could check when we're both free during the week. I'll go see if it survived."

"Ok Harry, I'll be here," she said, and pulled her hand from his. He looked down, surprised. He'd completely missed the fact that they'd been holding hands, and as he walked up to his dorm with Seamus he contemplated why. It had felt… natural, so right that it hadn't even registered with him until that moment that it could be something to consider. Had he taken her hand, or she his? With a little smile and a wonderful, warm feeling in his chest he realised that it didn't matter.

He retrieved his timetable after a little searching – the house elves had retrieved it, but understandably not put it back where he usually did – and was back with Hermione quickly. It turned out that they had Wednesday and Friday afternoons off in common, and they agreed that in their non-mutual off periods they'd independently research spells Harry could practice. Hermione decided to draw up a table where they could note what they had looked at and what they hadn't, so that they wouldn't end up reading the same books at different times.

Not long after, when everything was sorted and Harry was lying in bed, he couldn't help but feel a lot more hopeful about his prospects in the tournament than he had the same time yesterday, or even that morning.


End file.
